Waking up early the other day I peeked through the curtains on the way downstairs to make a cup of tea and was rewarded with the sight of a clear sky and a very heavy frost. I can’t resist an unusual weather event so I threw some clothes on over my pyjamas, grabbed my camera and went out to have a look.
The air was cold – catch at the back of the nose cold – and the sun hadn’t quite risen above the tall north-facing buildings on the quay. The water and marsh were caught in a subdued grey/pink light and underfoot the frost gave a satisfying crunch with each step. The tide was out.
My footsteps were accompanied by the woodwind murmurings of a flock of Brent geese as I walked northwards along the beach bank towards the sea.
I turned to look at them and at that moment the sun rose up from behind the town, touching everything around me with a soft golden light and making the frosted world sparkle.
Overhead, skeins of geese were making their way inland to feed on sugar beet.
Turning back the glare of low sun made me screw up my eyes – the landscape suddenly a black outline, silhouetted against the shining backlight.